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𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐌 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐎𝐍

    𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐌 slouched against the rigid metal bar of the academia-braced combo desk, the cold steel digging into his back. A dull ache crept along his spine, but the weight of comfort kept him still. Shifting meant effort, and he was in no rush to move.

His foot stretched beneath Jelani's desk, the steady bounce of his leg sending a rhythmic tremor through her seat. Each motion jostled her slightly, an irritation he knew would surface sooner or later.

With a lazy hand, he fluffed his thick, nappy afro, his fingers grazing through the dense coils as his gaze remained fixed on the screen. Minty darted through the shadowed woods, her breath heavy with urgency.

The dim classroom buzzed faintly with murmurs and the hum of the projector—Film Studies class was deep into Harriet, but Kyomm barely blinked, his focus locked in place.

Kyomm never liked watching movies like this. No matter how many times he reminded himself that it was just acting, that they were playing a role, the blatant racism always rubbed him the wrong way. It made his skin prickle, his jaw tighten—like he was forcing himself to sit through something he had no business watching.

Exhaling sharply, he dragged his tongue over his lips before twisting a coil of his thick hair between his fingers, a slow, absent-minded motion. His other leg shifted restlessly, swinging inward and outward every couple of seconds, a rhythm he didn't even realize he was keeping.

His gaze drifted across the dimly lit classroom, taking in the scattered students slumped over their desks. Half of them were knocked out—Jace, Ramiyah, Caniyah, Jiani, and Dakai, all lost in their own worlds of sleep, completely unbothered by the film still playing in the background.

"Can you stop?" Jelani's voice was soft but firm, her eyes flicking toward his foot as she motioned slightly with her hand. Kyomm barely hesitated before nodding, dragging his foot back without complaint.

The spot had been comfortable, his leg naturally stretched under her desk, but that didn't matter. If a girl asked him to do something—especially something as simple as this—he'd do it, no questions asked.

That's just how he was. Every girl he came across, he found himself spoiling in some way, whether they realized it or not. Small gestures, quiet considerations—it was second nature to him.

But there was one girl who had him in a complete chokehold, one who got spoiled the most without even having to ask. His little sister, Kash.

Not even three years old yet, but already ruling his world like she owned it. If she wanted something, she got it—no hesitation, no second-guessing. And if anybody had a problem with that? That was their problem.